


Truly Madly Deeply

by OngoingCrisis



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25422736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OngoingCrisis/pseuds/OngoingCrisis
Summary: Prompt: “Can you come and get me, I think I might be drunk.” “Might?”
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 134





	Truly Madly Deeply

**Author's Note:**

> Who sir, a pretentious asshole for referencing Plato in a self indulgent smut fic? Not I, sir.

**Prompt: “Can you come and get me, I think I might be drunk.’ ‘Might be?’**

He was a half-hearted two hundred and thirty pages into Republic when his phone buzzed against his hip. 

_And what do you say of lovers of wine? Do you not see them doing the same? They are glad of any pretext of drinking wine._

Apropos. Garcia’s “we don’t need a reason to get our freak on,” when she’d lured them into a bar on a Friday night was the same sentiment with less pretension. 

With difficulty from his supine position on the couch, he fished his phone from his pocket and glanced at caller ID. Prentiss. 

“Hey.” Emily’s line was open to the sound of a busy street: a cacophony of cars, drunken yelling, and raucous laughter deafening one ear in the relative silence of the apartment. 

“Spence?” Emily’s voice was distracted by something on her end, but there was an urgency in her tone that made Spencer sit up, Plato sliding off his chest to the floor with a thump. 

“Yeah I’m here. Are you okay?” 

There was a beat before Emily replied, and he could hear the sound of drunken laughter echoing past her, and the sound of Emily’s huffed breathing, the strain of exertion as she appeared to be grappling with something. “One sec.” 

“Are you okay?” he repeated, more urgently now. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. We’re fine. I wouldn’t call, but we can’t get a cab and Liv is…” 

The sound of laughter faded, and Spencer could hear the faint sounds of someone singing, loudly, slurring, and wildly off-key. 

“Wasted.” Spencer finished for her, biting down on the smirk that threatened. 

“Yeah, she’s pretty gone. She and Garcia joined a boat race and it hit her pretty quickly,” she paused, as if conversing with someone, and he strained to hear the muffled sounds on the other end of the line. “Can you - can you just…” 

“I’m on my way,” he promised, and he heard the relief in Emily’s usually implacable tone as she muttered “thank God” to neither of them. 

Spencer opened his mouth to give her an ETA, but he heard Emily mumble something unintelligible, and then a different voice sing through into his ear. Even slurred, it made his stomach flutter to hear her. 

“Spencer?” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he replied, tucking his phone between his chin and shoulder as he locked the apartment door. “You having fun?”

“So much fun. So much.”

“Uh-huh. Emily’s not having fun looking after you though, is she?” His tone was light, but he couldn’t help slipping in a slight bite to his words. It would usually be enough to make her shiver, but she seemed completely unaffected as she heaved a sigh. 

“No,” she answered, with a remarkable amount of self awareness for someone struggling with compound sentences. “I think I’m a bit drunk. Can you come get me?”

“I’m on my way. Sit and be good for Emily until I get there. No running off.” 

“ ‘Kay. No running off.” Her voice seemed fainter now, as if tired, and Spencer could hear the rustle as the phone changed hands again. 

“Huh - that worked,” Emily’s note of innocent surprise almost made Spencer snort. “You’ll be here soon?”

“Twenty minutes,” he promised, and ended the call.

True to his word, it took him nineteen to pull up outside the wine bar on 11th. Most of the patrons were drifting home, and it took him a couple of seconds to recognise Emily’s dark head by the side wall of the bar, and the woman next to her who was sitting on the sidewalk and apparently impervious to Emily’s pleading hands trying to tug her upright. Spencer schooled his expression into a neutral face, biting down hard on the smirk that threatened. 

“Oh thank God,” he heard Emily sigh as he approached. “She won’t stand up. She’s fine, but she won’t stand up.”

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” he explained, tugging Liv to her feet. “I told her not to run off.”

Emily waved him off. “It’s fine. JJ and Penelope are home.”

“Can I give you a lift?” Spencer offered, pinioning Liv to his side. Emily’s eyes flashed as she shot him a grin. 

“Ooh no. Night is still young, and so am I.” Spencer followed her eyes, and noted the familiar face leaning against a gunmetal GT across the road. 

“Have fun with that. I’ll see you Monday.” 

“See you Monday.” 

Spencer watched her until she was safely in Andrew’s car, and then turned his attention to Liv, who was dozing peacefully on his shoulder. 

“Into the car,” he ordered, and Liv stumbled towards the kerb, leaning heavily into the arm he’d wrapped around her stomach to hold her up. He had propped her against his shoulder to pry open the car door, when an almighty whack sent him stumbling forwards, almost losing his grip on Liv in the process.

His hand went to his empty hip as he whirled around to face off with his attacker, and caught a blow to the chest that sent him reeling. To his astonishment, his assailant was a tiny woman, teetering on a pair of vertiginous heels, and wearing an expression of such blinding fury, he was struck dumb for a second. She took full advantage of his shock, and seized Liv’s arm, dragging her forward and away from Spencer. He gripped her waist tighter, trying to turn his shoulder between them and tear her hand off Liv’s arm. For a second Liv teetered between them, in a bizarre tug of war, and then toppled forward, saved from a face full of sidewalk only by Spencer wrapping his arm around her and pulling her hard against his chest. 

“Let go of her!” the woman shouted, and for a second Spencer saw the position from her perspective. A lone drunk woman being propelled towards a car by a stranger - this tiny, drunk woman was prepared to square up to a man twice her size to save Liv. 

“It’s okay - I’m…” Spencer began, but the adrenaline of the tussle had sobered Liv up enough to step between them, placing a gentle hand on the woman’s chest. 

“S’okay,” she said, “he’s mine.” 

“You sure?” The woman was still eyeing Spencer like she’d take him on with the sharp end of one of her heels. Liv was fumbling in her purse, and drew out her cellphone with a triumphant “ah.” She couldn’t quite manage to hold the phone steady enough for the woman to be able to see her lockscreen, so Spencer reached out to steady her hand. 

The woman peered suspiciously at the phone, and looked between the Spencer in front of her and the Spencer in the photo, with his hair full of leaves and a dopey smile on his face, like a TSA agent appraising a passport photo. 

He apparently passed muster, and the woman dropped her gaze and mumbled “sorry” in Spencer’s general direction. 

He shook his head, and Liv, drunk as she was, reached out a gentle hand. “Thanks,” she said. The woman waved them both off as she tottered back into the smoking area. 

Liv sniffed as they watched her go. 

“You okay?” 

“Yeah. Nice to know there are people watching my back when I do dumb shit.” 

He laughed, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Clearly I need to watch mine.” 

“Did she hurt you?”

“No,” he reassured, holding open the car door for her. She seemed more steady on her feet, so he kept only a feather touch on her waist. She was belting herself in, as he slipped into the driving seat beside her, and he was conscious of her expectant gaze on him as he pulled away from the kerb. 

“Why are you staring?” 

“I’m lucky to have you,” she stated, the drunken candour turning an expression of love into an empirical declaration. 

“Very lucky,” he agreed, but reached across the console for her hand anyway. She took it, and drew her knees up to turn onto her side facing him. 

“Hm,” she agreed, but when he glanced over at her, her face was pressed into the seat, eyes closed and her breathing had evened. Dead to the world, with his hand clasped in hers and the rest of her curled around it. Spencer drove all the way home with a dopey smile on his face. He didn’t think anything of it - there wasn't anyone awake to see it. 

Liv closed her eyes, and hid her smile in her hair. 

*

Spencer hadn’t deliberately left the curtains open, but he couldn’t help the smug grin as Liv shifted and groaned in pain as her first flicker of awareness was met with the blinding sunshine of mid-morning. 

“Morning,” he said to the burrowed lump beside him as he took a sip of coffee. Her muffled groan was all the response he got as she buried her face into his hip. “How’s your head?”

“Sore,” she replied, muffled by the fabric of his pyjamas. He set down his book and coffee cup, and pulled the covers down so he could see her. 

“Good night last night?”

She blinked up at him. “You took me home.”

“Mm-hm.” 

“You got into a fight with a woman who thought you were abducting me,” she continued, working backwards through her memories.

“I did.”

“I tried to boat race Garcia.”

“You did.” 

“Fuck.” 

His demeanour changed, and he reached out to grip her jaw, and tug it upwards. “Look at me.” She did so, and he noted the clear, if slightly bloodshot, focus in her gaze. “When was your last drink?”

She heard the question he wasn’t asking. “I’m sober Spence. Trust me, and my pounding headache, I am very sober.” 

“Had you known your limits last night, I might have been willing to help with that,” Spencer said, coolly. “Could have given you exactly what you need for that headache.”

“Could still,” Liv replied, a hint of challenge in her voice. 

Spencer pulled the covers off of them both, leaving Liv to yelp at the sudden chill. She tried to draw her legs up into a ball but he had rolled up to kneeling, catching her ankles and dragging her legs out straight.

“Oh no,” he snorted. “I don’t think so. It took Emily, me, and a complete stranger to get you home safely last night. You owe me.”

“Do I fuck,” she scoffed. “I needed a bit of cool air to sober up and I would have gotten a cab just fine.”

“Do you want to know the odds of that not happening? Because I do. And the notion that you would have been just fine is bravado. Turn over.” 

She stayed where she was, glaring defiantly up at him. He gripped her hips, dragging her up and twisting until she was rolling over and under him. The underwear he’d left on her last night winked up at him from beneath the hem of her T-shirt, and his cock stirred into wakefulness, pressing against the curve of her ass. She let out a groan as he wrapped his hands in her hair, tugging gently at the roots to pull her chin up.

“Had you been sensible, you could have had this last night.” He pressed his hips against her, accentuating his point with the insistent hardness straining the seams of his pyjama pants. “Could have had anything you wanted, and I would have given it to my safe, sensible girl. But messy girls don’t get to ask for anything. They get what they’re given.” 

“You’d just give it to me anyway,” she scoffed, half to herself. The resounding crack that whistled through the air jolted through her as his palm made contact, and Spencer responded to her moan with a satisfied grunt. 

“I would,” he agreed. “But you’d have some say in the matter. I spoil you too much, and you take my indulgence too far.” He shifted against her again, and then slipped a hand between her legs, pressing an insistent two fingers into her heat without any further ado. She shifted against him, grinding back against his hand in an attempt to gain some pressure against her clit, but he yanked on the hair still tangled around his knuckles until her upper body shifted back in an attempt to relieve the pressure on her scalp. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Spencer growled, using her distraction to hook her underwear over her ass and down her thighs. 

“No,” she choked out, and he returned his other hand to her heat, sliding the same two fingers into her as she shifted again, biting down on the moan that threatened. He lifted his hand, and added a third digit, stretching her out around him. 

“You can make any noise you like. It isn’t going to change the outcome.” He released her hair, letting her head fall forwards to the mattress, and kept up the steady pace with his left hand, as his right pushed down his pyjama pants, fisting over his cock once before adjusting his hips and pressing down and into her, bottoming out in a single, well-practiced thrust. 

She mewled, and shifted her hips underneath him to let him sink even deeper, and letting her snake a hand underneath her abdomen to reach her clit. He reached under her stomach and dragged her hand back out, pinioning it against her lower back and wrapping the other one around her throat, levering both holds until she was resting on her knees, his cock still buried inside her. 

“This is mine,” he reminded her, fighting to keep his voice even as her body rolled, her muscles clenching around him. When she shifted more purposefully, he tightened the pressure on her throat as a warning, even as his hips began to thrust shallowly into her. “Messy girls take what they are given.”

Her throat flexed against his hand as his other pushed down on the hand pinned against her back, deepening the arch in her spine, and a full body shiver racked through her as she groaned. 

“Anyone could have taken you last night,” Spencer hissed, sharpening his thrusts and dragging her back into his pelvis with each snap of his hips. He steeled himself, the feeling of her heat completely intoxicating. “Taken what’s mine.” 

Her free hand wrapped around the wrist of the hand encircling her throat, and tapped lightly. He loosened his grip, and slowed his movements, but she shook her head at his unspoken question. He moved his hand instead to press on her upper spine, gripping onto her shoulder as her head fell forward. 

“Please.” Her moan was broken as her hand trembled on the bed beside them, desperate for the release that touching her neglected clit would bring. Spencer was tempted to indulge her, but chose the other option, releasing her other hand and pulling her up by her shoulder to lay flush against his chest. His thrusts were shallower in this position, but the feeling of her as her stomach muscles flexed to keep her upright was heady enough. He tugged her back yet further, until she was sat against his thighs, her hair tumbling back over his shoulder. He nipped the skin behind her ear, and she trembled, balling her hands into fists in attempt to keep them in place. He pressed a gentle kiss against her jaw by way of a half reward, and drew his hand around to push her shirt up over her head. 

“Only good girls get to come. Messy girls don’t get the same consideration.” She groaned, arching her back to change his angle. He would have dragged her back, but this new position felt incredible against the underside of his cock, and he had to take a beat before he could manage to speak again. She took full advantage of his sudden silence, pressing her hand against Spencer’s where it sat on her abdomen, aiding the rise and fall of her hips against his. 

“I knew I was safe,” she murmured, spilling out the words before he could interrupt. “You’d never let anything happen.” His insistent thrust knocked the wind from her, and her chest heaved as the hand gripped her abdomen, white knuckled as his fingertips dug into the soft muscle.

“I can’t stop anything unless I’m there,” he hissed, moving his hand up to wrap around one of her breasts, and bending his head to nip a mark into her shoulder, gripping the muscle between his teeth as she shuddered again. “You were too far gone to even call me for help.” 

“Spencer, please,” her breathy words were punctuated by moans as she tried again to grind back against him, wanting more, wanting anything. “Please… I-I’m sorry.”

He pulled out of her and revelled in the wracked sob she released at the sensation. He didn’t stop at the sound - instead wrenching her hips to twist her and tossing her unceremoniously onto her back on the bed. Her chest was flushed, and she held herself perfectly still, eyes warily on his face as if trying to predict his next move. 

“If I had my way, you’d never leave this bed.” He watched her stomach tense at the idea, and forced down the smirk that threatened. Her legs shifted, but she kept them where he’d thrown them, resisting the urge to press her thighs together for the relief her body was clearly sobbing for. An idea sparked in his mind, even as he brushed his fingers over the head of his cock and nearly sent himself over the edge. “Convince me.” 

“That I’m sorry?” she croaked.

“No. Convince me that I should give you what you want.” Her eyes widened at the suggestion, and she sat up, watching for any hint that he would stop her. When he didn’t, she slid closer to Spencer, bracketing his hips with her knees and resting her fingertips on his thighs. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse with the feeling she was layering into each word. 

“I am safe. I have people around me, looking out for me always for the first time in my life.” She brushed her fingertips upwards, watching his abdominal muscles contract under the nerve stimulation and his cock twitch at the sensation, just out of reach of her fingers. “I’ve never had that before. I’ve always had to keep one eye on the door, and the other on my drink, because nobody else would. But last night…”

Spencer reached out to brush her thumb over her lip, and she leaned into his palm. 

“You’re my home Spence. I’ve never felt safe like this.” 

His eyes closed, processing the words. She let them hang there as she stroked the sides of his abdomen with her thumb, pressing her forehead into his chest. His hands came up to tangle in her hair, cupping the curve of her skull as he curled down to press a bruising kiss against her lips, swallowing the moan she let out as he shifted to press his knee against her core. 

“Please,” she begged. As if he could deny her anything. 

Cradling her head with one hand, he pushed her back down to the bed with the other. She went easily, keeping her eyes on his as his knees nudged her legs wide enough for his hips to settle against hers. He pressed his lips to her ear, tugging gently on her earlobe. 

“I don’t want to hear words,” he murmured, adjusting his hips to tease softly at her entrance. “Not unless it’s my name.” 

Her eyes were closed, the anticipation of relief too close for her to do anything but nod. This time, his hand was gentle, trailing down her abdomen with his fingertips. He didn’t tease, slipping his fingers down to press lightly against her clit, shifting his hand from the curve of her skull to the base, pulling her down even as she arched away from the gentle stimulation. 

“Too much?” he breathed. She opened her mouth to respond, and then closed it and shook her head. He pressed a kiss to the column of her throat, and pushed his hips forward again, slipping into her waiting heat. 

It felt like a benediction, being inside her, relishing the sensation of her core clenching around him as he moved his fingers against her, finding a rhythm between his hips and his hand that had her sobbing against him, tangling her fingers in his hair in a painful grip as her back bowed.

It didn’t take much to knock her off the edge, and Spencer pushed his hips down, pinning her in place even as she bucked up, wrapping her arm around his neck and clinging on for dear life as he fucked her through it, relishing in the gasped sobs as she trembled back down. He had seconds left in him as the sensation in his his stomach tightened, and he lifted his hand from her clit to wrap around her back, holding her to him as his hips pounded against hers, once, twice, and then he was gone on a feral moan. She had enough left in her to squeeze down, prolonging his orgasm for as long as either of them could manage as he released inside her. 

He collapsed onto the bed beside her, pulling her on top of him with unwieldy, exhausted limbs. She curled into the nape of his neck, pressing soft kisses to the damp skin there as he traced a gentle hand along her side. When the sweat began to cool, Spencer pushed himself off of the bed and slipped into the bathroom, digging out a sweater and leggings from the linen closet, and a soft flannel. 

When he returned, Liv was lying on the bed, arms up and gazing out at the sun. Her eyes flickered to him as he pressed the flannel against her, gently cleaning any evidence of their activities from the flushed skin before he tossed it at the laundry basket and slid her leggings up her legs. 

“Arms up,” he murmured, balling the sweater and pulling it down over her head. 

“I’ve never met a man who insists on dressing me so much,” Liv snorted as her face reappeared. “Undressing sure, but…”

Spencer smiled as he unhooked her hair from the collar. “Wanna sleep off the rest of that hangover, or keep on smart mouthing?”

“Sleep,” Liv opted, flopping back down onto the pillows and opening her arms to him. “Please.” 

He went, flopping down on top of her and knocking all of the air out of her with a huff. “Liv…” he said to her chest, muffled by the fabric.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. She heard him, tightening her arms around his back. “I know,” she mumbled. 

_You feel like home._

**Author's Note:**

> The writing gremlin is on FIRE this week. 
> 
> Thank you to Kaitlin (definitelynotkatesblog) for a stellar beta - much needed in corralling my affinity for too many hands. 
> 
> As always, cross-posted on Tumblr (ongoingcrisismsc) as soon as my doddery brain can figure it out. Pop over if you have a request.


End file.
